


play your mind away (its not like you can lose it)

by Garecc, Gunpowderdtim (Garecc)



Series: Ready, Aim, Fire [25]
Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: (but thats the bioprogramming), Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Gen, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Mind Control, Music, Not Canon Compliant, Protective Jonny d'Ville, Reunions, Skuzz is the third mech, Soft Jonny d'Ville, bioprogramming, i know its spelled with a c but i like k's more, if i hadnt had my friend beta this i would tag it 'no beta we die like everyone thought skuzz did', more info in the start notes, nastya is here but for maybe two lines total, sorta its an au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24971542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garecc/pseuds/Garecc, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garecc/pseuds/Gunpowderdtim
Summary: "Last I heard Skuzz was halfway around the galaxy teaching children to play cello or something" — Maki, about Skuzz in the mechscordin which i saw that and thought "you know what would be fucked up"In which Skuzz is very bioprogrammed, can't stop playing the cello, and Carmilla told everyone she was dead.
Relationships: Jonny d'Ville & Scuzz Nishimura
Series: Ready, Aim, Fire [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799860
Comments: 8
Kudos: 87





	play your mind away (its not like you can lose it)

**Author's Note:**

> So basically heres a bit of context:
> 
> me and my friend were like "you know what would be fucked up???" And running with it until we landed on the concept "Skuzz was Carmilla experimenting with bioprogramming bc she wanted to see what she could do and eventually when she was like "kay experiments over gonna. Just. Leave you on a random planet now." And also Skuzz can't stop playing the cello bc we were REALLY running with the "you know what would be fucked up' narrative.
> 
> Skuzz's entire memory is sorta fucked and she forgets things if she isn't reminded that they exist or whatever so she might be having a conversation with someone and suddenly forget their name or she might forget the concepts of things etc etc

Skuzz's fingers ached, when she managed to look away from The Cello for more than a few seconds she could see her mechanical bones breaking through her rusted flesh like knives rending through a worn and dulled plastic.

She doesn't know if she wants to stop playing.

She loves playing the cello (she has to right? Of course she does of _course she does._ ) and she knows she can't stop, that _something_ isn't letting her. 

She decides she doesn't want to stop no matter how much her fingers hurt. (Because if she didn't want to keep playing she doesn't know what's making her and she isn't sure if she could remember) (she knows she couldn't remember)

She doesn't remember when she last slept or ate, she can't remember much of anything beyond the fluid endless movements of her bow as she played and played and played and played

  
  


She’s slumped over the cello, looking to all the world that her strings are cut as she plays a song she thinks might possibly be called Rocket Girl. 

She plays and _plays and plays_.

Her memories fuzz off into blurred static at the edges, and there aren't many edges to press against because there aren't many memories left to fritz.

She’s far away from her home, she knows that. She might not know _where_ her home is, or _what_ it is, or _who_ it is, but she knows she is far far far from it. She knows her home is a who. Not a what.

She doesn't know how she knows that.

Music drifts away from her, beautiful and entrapping even with the forgotten notes, even as her rusted blood stains the strings.

Playing and playing and her hands don't leave the strings for hours days weeks months years decades centuries millennia and so on until the end of the universe and over and over and over again.

She can't recall the words to the song that her hands spin, can't recall half the notes as she plays plays plays it anyway.

She passes out over the cello, hands only stilling once unconsciousness claims her, slumping forward as she collapses, exhausted.

She’s long lost the ability to sing.

The memory of _how_ to sing.

She dreams of arms holding her, shielding her from someone, something.

She dreams of cold hands holding her own.

She dreams of an ever ticking heart.

She doesn't know why.

When she wakes it's right back to playing, right back to music music music music right back to the half-known memories right back to her bleeding rusted hands.

The strings of the cello snap almost in unison with a shattering twang, worn out by millennia of the music.

And as her mind breaks she knows she _needs to find a new Cello._

Her legs creak like a weak foundation during an earthquake. Unsteady and shaking as The Cello Player so long sitting stands. There are eyes facing her as she leaves the Broken Stringed Cello sitting in her rusted wake. It takes her a moment of trying to figure out yet again how to move her limbs, when she does, and walks forward to the nearest person. 

The Cello Player hasn't stood in 500 years.

“Where can I get a new cello?” her voice is rusted, blank, bland with the incessant yearning command of _you need to keep playing._

“Um.” The person says, she hadn't spoken Common. 

“Where can I get a new cello?” she responds in a fractured rendition of what her spotty memories of Common might be. 

She’s given directions, and like a rusted ghost she walks.

She walks into the store, walks into the shop, with her ragged clothes and tattered hair and dirt-covered skin of centuries of playing playing playing without pause or thought.

She sees the cellos and it's with nothing she walks over, and takes one down, the shopkeep says something but the words aren't heard as she tunes it, as she takes a new bow, as she starts playing playing playing.

And she goes to leave.

She’s stopped, there are voices blurring and she keeps walking. She needs to find someone to play for. To return to her spot. 

There are people yelling and they try to take the Cello and she reacts without thinking, they're taking her cello and needs it and they keep trying to _take it_ and then she

rips

off

their

arm.

And they are on the floor bleeding bleeding bleeding as she walks away as she plays plays plays plays

She sits in a new place and keeps

on

playing.

There are people talking to her yelling at her and

She doesn't look away from the cello doesn't stop playing can't stop playing.

someone

grabs

her

cello

again.

It's _hers._

She doesn't think as she kills them, hardly realizes she does as she keeps on playing playing playing

A bullet tears through her shoulder as the person's blood drips, but of course, she keeps on playing playing playing.

She heals around the bullet as she

keeps

on

playing.

She hurts more people, and more people try to take the cello, eventually she is dragged to her feet and no one touches it, so there is no reason to fight because she can't stop playing playing playing

So she was in a cell, now.

(Once she would have made a pun about this, now she likely couldn't remember how to make a joke.)

She rips off the restraints and the cuffs and everything to keep playing playing playing.

So eventually, after breaking out one or two or five or 17 times they let her keep playing playing playing playing.

Eventually, someone is taken down the hallway, kicking, angry, and as the person sits in the cell next to them, they hear a familiar sound.

A familiar ticking.

Something is associated with that ticking.

A song she can't remember more than half the notes for is recalled, but as she finishes up another mostly-forgotten song, she make the choice to play that half forgotten tune.

“Skuzz?” The voice is horrified, and it takes a moment to click into place.

Thats her name, isn't it?

Skuzz can't stop playing long enough to think about it as she falls back into the effort it takes to play the song.

Soon enough, the person is in her cell. 

They try to take the cello and Skuzz doesn't-can't-hurt-him so she just pulls back, the music stopping for half a second before returning even more frantic. 

“Can you stop playing?” He asks. 

Skuzz manages to shake her head, she doesn't know why she bothered.

But..

As she manages to look at him, she _knows_ she loves him.

And she can't remember why.

She can't remember who he is.

“I- I know you.” Skuzz mumbles between notes. Between the pounding in her head. “I- the ticking. I know that. I know you. I love you.”

“You do.” He whispers. 

Skuzz feels her heart lighten at that.

She _knows_ him.

“What's your name?” She manages.

“Jonny,” Jonny says, voice breaking. “My name is Jonny.”

Jonny.

Jonny.

Jonny.

Skuzz knows Jonny.

Skuzz loves Jonny like a brother.

The missing notes of One Eyed Jacks fill in as she plays. 

“I'm going to bring you back to Aurora,” Jonny says after the moment breaks. 

“..Who?”

“The ship. Our home.”

Right.

Aurora.

Aurora. Their home. Someone-she-can't-quite-recall’s girlfriend.

He picks her up, and her song doesn't falter or miss a single note.

She curls against him, closing her eyes, of course she still play in muscle memory, but the ticking of his metal heart (she knows that, his heart is metal. Like the bones in her hands and wrists. Again, knowledge fills the gaps like ice splits apart stone.) calms her.

Jonny will protect her. She knows. Jonny is safe. She _knows this_.

So she doesn't miss a note, doesn't miss a single beat, as Jonny carries her home.

Someone helps carry the cello. That's nice. 

Skuzz knows that face, in a faint way. As she is set down on a bed. “Nastya” she hears Jonny say. And oh.

Oh.

Her sister.

“Nastya.” Skuzz mumbles, memories falling back into place in shattered remnants of association. Nastya is already holding her as Jonny presses a needle into her arm and-

Skuzz falls unconscious, and her long-rusted hand stills. 

Jonny and Nastya share a look, because oh god, _Skuzz_.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i... want to hug Skuzz


End file.
